Just Feel Better
by LostinOblivion
Summary: When Prentiss shows up at his door soaked to the bone and upset, Morgan has no idea what to expect. Morgan/Prentiss friendship.


_Spring cleaning no. 4. Thank you everyone who reviewed my other stories, there should be another couple this weekend. _

_I started writing this when it looked like the writers were setting Emily up to leave via mental breakdown, then they abruptly switched to the current plot arc, so I willfully forgot about it. I found it cleaning, and decided to finish it. It isn't very happy though. So, thank you in advance for reading, and please review!  
_

* * *

_"She said I need you to hold me_  
_I'm a little far from the shore_  
_And I'm afraid of sinking_  
_You're the only one who knows me_  
_And who doesn't ignore_  
_That my soul is weeping"_

Morgan was reclined on his sofa, sipping a beer, and watching Bruce Willis take on half the thugs in New York. It was a Thursday night, a day after getting back from a rough case, and it was pouring in DC like they should be expecting Noah to show up any minute. He didn't feel much like going out anyway, he felt so drained he was actually contemplating calling in sick tomorrow and flying to Chicago for the weekend. Nothing could rejuvenate the soul like a visit to see the Morgan girls. Garcia had even suggested that he could use a vacation.

So maybe he'd take a week soon, visit his mother and sisters, and then spend a few days on a beach, soaking up the sun and admiring what designers did with tiny bits of fabric. Part of him felt like he was getting too old for that sort of thing though, and he knew he'd only admire so long before he starting wondering which young, beautiful woman would take the hand of the wrong guy and end up in a case file.

Skip the beach then. Just the Morgan girls. He sighed, and flipped the channel. How many times had he seen Die Hard, anyway? Cooking show…and what was that? Never mind, he didn't want to know. CSI, not happening. Something about triplets, a show about obese people, and something on sharks. Sharks could work…and sharks just went to commercial. Damn. He flipped to the next channel as the knock came at the door.

Morgan glanced over with a frown, and dropped the remote, setting his beer down, and moving from his sofa. He peeked through the peephole, and his eyebrows jumped up at what he saw. Quickly, he twisted the locks and yanked the door open.

"What happened?" Were the first words out of his mouth. Now, her eyebrows rose in surprise.

Prentiss was soaked through to the bone, her hair plastered to her head, and her dark eye-make-up run down her face in messy black trails. She was wearing the same clothes she'd been in when he last saw her four hours ago, and held her black blazer closed over her probably now see-through white blouse.

"Uh, nothing I was just…walking."

He laughed through his nose, and gestured her inside. "Let me get you a towel." He glanced at her sopping wet form. "Or a few."

"Thanks…" But, she sounded totally unsure. Almost like she wasn't totally there.

He headed upstairs to his linen closet, and grabbed out a couple towels. He turned back to the stairs, but changed his mind and headed to his bedroom, and pulled clean sweats from a drawer.

"Hey," he said, pulling her out of whatever thoughts had her staring blankly across the room. "Take these, bathroom is upstairs, you can toss your wet clothes over the shower curtain bar."

She frowned in confusion until she saw his hands, and then abruptly shook her head. "A towel is fine, a little water won't kill me."

"According to my mother and grandmother, yeah, it might. Get out of those wet clothes before you get pneumonia or something."

"You can't get sick from being wet."

"Just change, Prentiss." He gestured with the towels and clothes, and she finally relented, disappearing up the stairs and leaving him to wonder what possessed her to go for a walk in pouring rain.

She was a complicated woman, he'd known that practically since he met her, and she very rarely confided in anyone. Something about growing up a loner he supposed, though it wasn't like he confided in people regularly either. It took a lot to scare her, a lot to shake her, and it had be pretty big whatever sent her over here tonight.

"Thanks." He turned to find her coming down the stairs, a yawning Clooney behind her. She had her hands tucked into the too long sleeves of the blue Chicago PD sweatshirt, and must have had the waistband of the pants rolled up, because she wasn't tripping over them. Her hair was a little wild-looking wet, and she'd wiped off the make-up. It was rare that he ever saw her without any make-up.

Biting her lip, she sat down beside him, silent, a little awkward. Clooney, all 70 pounds of him, jumped up onto the couch with them, and started to climb into her lap. The golden retriever liked to think he was much smaller than he actually was, and was completely oblivious that he was probably more than half her weight.

"Hey Clooney, come on, you're a little big for that," he said, gesturing him to get down.

"It's okay, he's not bothering me," she said, looking amused as the dog gave him seriously pathetic puppy eyes.

Morgan shook his head, and rolled his eyes. "He loves the ladies."

"Is that why you named him Clooney? As in George, modern ladies man?" She stroked the dog's head, and his closed his eyes, clearly enjoying the hell out of it.

"Actually, Sarah is to blame for that. She went with me when I got him, and her and Mama have the hots for…what the hell was his name on ER?" Rarely had either woman ever missed an episode of that show.

She shrugged. "I never watched ER, I prefer comedy." She pointed to the TV. "And, apparently you prefer the Golden Girls."

"What?" His head snapped toward the TV.

"I didn't expect you to be a fan of Lifetime." Prentiss was almost smiling, at least her eyes were.

"I was flipping channels when you got here, I guess this is what I got to." Could it have been a more embarrassing show?

"Sure you were."

He pretended to be annoyed. "I know you didn't come here to criticize my television habits. You want to tell me what's going on?"

And, just like that her buoyed mood vanished, and she broke eye contact, focusing completely on Clooney's long, golden fur.

"Prentiss?" He took one of her hands, and intertwined their fingers. "Come on now, talk to me."

She continued focusing on Clooney, one hand stroking his fur, but there was an unnerving tremble in it, and her other hand gripped his like she was hanging off a cliff. Emily didn't move, not for several minutes, and then she sighed, and finally looked at him again.

His breath caught in his throat.

All her careful shields were down, for maybe the first time he'd ever known her, and it wasn't a pretty picture. She looked so utterly exhausted, emotionally drained and devoid of any sign of hope or happiness, and behind the sheen of moisture in her eyes was turmoil swirling around as madly as any hurricane. Then she spoke.

"I handed Hotch my resignation tonight."

Morgan was knocked on his ass for the second time in barely two minutes. "W-why?"

Her gaze dropped to Clooney again. "I can't do it anymore, Morgan. I just…can't do it anymore."

He stared at her open-mouthed. "Talk to me, please."

She sniffled and looked at him. "You know how when you first start being a cop, everything hurt so much you can hardly make it through the day? Children with dead eyes, women who can't stop shaking and crying, men with pale, stunned faces that just can't believe it happened to them or theirs."

"Yeah, I remember that. It's rough, but you fight through it…or you quit."

She nodded. "You shut off a little piece of yourself, so you don't have to feel it. At first, it's not a lot, just a little piece here or there, and when you go home, you wind down and you get a little of that back. As long as you get some back, you'll never run out."

He squeezed her hand. "Are you telling me you've run out?"

Prentiss barked a bitter, sob-filled laugh. "I've been coping that way since I was five. I was never allowed to feel, it didn't matter if it was my cat dying, my father leaving, or a car bomb two blocks down the street that tore apart four people. I've been giving up those little pieces for three decades now, and I don't even know when I stopped getting them back…and now, there's nothing left."

Morgan brought a hand up to her face and turned it until she had to look in his eyes. "I don't believe that."

She nodded against his hand, tears flooding her eyes, but refusing to let them fall. Her voice cracked. "You're right, I'm pretty sure I lost the last part when I killed James Thomas."

"He was going to kill you." He didn't have to struggle to remember the name, a shooting, no matter which one of them did it, always generated more paperwork for all of them. He must written that guy's name two dozen times.

"Doesn't change the fact that I killed him."

"What's different about this one? It's not the first time."

Another bitter laugh, and she shook her head loose. "They always say most FBI agents go through their whole careers without firing their weapons. Where the hell are all of them?"

"Pushing paper," he said.

She sniffled again. "I looked into his eyes, Morgan. I looked into his eyes, and I didn't flinch."

"Prentiss, when we flinch someone could die. You did what you had to do."

"And, I gave another little piece of myself to do it. That last bit of feeling. I'm so numb, I feel like I'm not even breathing." She wiped at the tears she'd finally released.

"So that's it. You're done?" He tried not to seem like a dejected puppy, but apparently failed.

"You say that like it was so easy for me."

"Well, you did just say you handed Hotch your resignation."

She sniffled and stoppered up her tears with anger. "Yeah, and now I'm on your couch, holding you dog, and balling. It was real easy."

"You're right, I'm sorry," he said. But, she wasn't done.

"I can't go on like this. We go away on cases and I shut off everything that makes me human so that my guts are violently ripped out, and then we come home, and walk into an empty house, have a beer or read a book, and feel absolutely nothing. I went on a date the other day, with a guy that wasn't a jerk or an idiot, for a change, and I had no interest. Not in what he said, not in what he didn't, not even in how nice he looked in a suit. I don't even have a sex drive anymore, Morgan."

His eyebrows jumped up on his forehead. "What happened to 'Sin to Win', princess?"

"Work got in the way. And, I don't have sex there anyway," she said.

"And there goes my fantasy, down in flames." Morgan pretended to pout.

She cocked her head to the side and offered him a pointed look.

"So, when did you come to this decision?" He asked.

"A couple months ago, just didn't have the balls to face it. Every time I thought about walking into Hotch's office and telling him I quit, my stomach would clench."

"But it didn't today?"

"No, it did. I threw-up afterwards. I just couldn't keep it up any longer."

Morgan winced. "How'd Hotch take it?"

"Like I'd just slapped him. Then of course, he became Hotch again, and then he tried to ask me questions, but I just left."

His eyebrows snapped up again. "You just handed in your resignation and walked out?"

"I had to find a place to vomit."

"Right…have you checked your cell? I bet you he's left you a dozen worried messages."

She sighed, rubbing her face, eyes growing red again. "I know, I turned it off, I just can't talk about it right now."

"You're talking to me about it though."

"I didn't come here to talk, but I figured I should explain myself."

Morgan frowned, getting more confused by the second. "So, what did you come here for?"

She stared into his eyes then, wet brown eyes shifting around, studying him. She brought her hand to the side of her face then, and all of the sudden she was moving closer toward him, capturing his lips. Her lips moved over his soft and slow, but so sensuous it left little question that this wasn't the end for her. Then she sat back again. "To feel something."

His mouth opened, but nothing came out.

"Too presumptuous?" She asked.

"Unexpected," he finally managed.

"That isn't a no."

It took a few minutes so his mind to wrap around the situation, and come to at least one conclusion. "No, it's not a no. But, I need to call Hotch and let him know that you're alright."

Maybe not alright he thought, but at least not about to jump off a bridge. Emily nodded sniffling. "Tell him I'm sorry for running out."

Morgan nodded, and got up from the couch, leaving her to indulge Clooney's cravings for female attention, and walked to his kitchen. He pulled out his cell, and dialed Hotch.

It wasn't exactly a short conversation, Hotch being desperate to know what the hell was going on with Prentiss, but it went better than expected. The Unit Chief determined that he'd sit on the resignation for a few days, in case she changed her mind. He couldn't offer Hotch much of an explanation, except that Prentiss was in a bad place, and he'd keep an eye on her for a while. Hotch was grateful, but like Morgan still terribly confused and completely thrown for a loop.

"There should be several messages and texts from him on your phone. And, you're damn lucky I didn't call a minute later, he was about to call Garcia, and I don't need to tell you how well she would have handled hearing that from Hotch."

Emily nodded. "I didn't mean to worry him, I just…"

"You're in a bad place right now."

She bit her lip but didn't comment.

"Clooney," he said, gestured the dog off the couch. He obeyed, but with considerable reluctance. Morgan slid close to her, not to kiss her, but to extend his arm, an invitation for an embrace.

She accepted it, and to his surprise practically fell against him, wrapping around one arm around his back, the other around his neck, fingers settling deep into his skin. Morgan held her similarly, resting on hand on the back of her head, and gently stroking her hair.

"I don't know what to do." Emily's soft voice almost startled him.

"You don't have to, not right now."

Her voice cracked. "Promise?"

She sounded like a child, asking for a promise there was no real way to give, and like he would to a child, he gave it anyway. "Yeah, I promise."

And then, she was jolting in his arms in time to the quiet sobs coming from her throat, burying her face in his shoulder. Three decades of hurt, of frustration, of fear, of pain finally began to pour out, like the hot tears from her eyes.

_"I'm gonna try anything to just feel better  
Tell me what to do  
You know I can't see through the haze around me  
And I do anything to just feel better_

_And I can't find my way  
God I need a change  
And I do anything to just feel better  
Any little thing that just feel better"_

_-Just Feel Better, Santana featuring Steven Tyler_


End file.
